


Named Things

by lacrimalis



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: And One Of Them Becomes The Devil, Cartoon Physics, Dubious Consent, For Sexual Purposes, Just A Fun Little Story About Three Horny Imps, Minor Character Death, Origin Story, Other, Reader-Insert, Shapeshifting, Vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 02:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacrimalis/pseuds/lacrimalis
Summary: You crawl from the lava pits with a hundred identical siblings, and the first thing you learn about yourself is that you are expendable.





	Named Things

You crawl from the lava pits with a hundred identical siblings, and the first thing you learn about yourself is that you are expendable.

From your birth (if such a crude and irreverent process can be compared to that, if the fiery pits of Hell are a womb, and your pronged tails umbilical cords), you know that all of you are made in the image of Hell's ruler. Yet you are conferred no respect or special treatment for this resemblance.

As you crawl from the craggy pits, dripping with lava and scrabbling with stubby new claws and feet, a hulking beast of deformed and bulging muscles approaches your brood. It crouches by the edge of the incline that leads to the lava pit, picks up one of your siblings that is about to crest the embankment, and unceremoniously drops it into its mouth.

The first of your broodmates dies with an undignified squeal, and a wet, bloody 'crunch'.

The beast informs the wide-eyed lot of you that its name is Crocell, and that it is responsible for assigning you jobs. It pulls out a long scroll that's burnt at the edges and begins pointing and beckoning you in one direction or another.

A quarter of your brood are selected to play in the band in the Devil's court, and you know enough in your fledgling mind to envy them. Apparently you are not alone, because two of your fellow imps assassinate these lucky few when the behemoth is looking back at his scroll and take their ill-fated siblings' places. You wish you had thought of such clever treachery, but then a towering violet-skinned demon with a brass instrument around its neck appears beside Crocell at the ledge, and it leads them off.

Most of the rest of your siblings are selected for manual labor, and though the taskmaster that steps out from behind Crocell weaves a pretty and important-sounding half-truth ("Turning the wheels of production! Pumping Hell's bellows to keep its flames alight!") you don't envy them at all as they clamber up the rocks and hoist themselves over the edge.

Others are tasked out to more specialized jobs: guarding doors to forbidden secrets, whipping the backs of rule breakers and the damned, even making mischief in the mortal world -- and then the behemoth comes to the last of you.

It is only you and two others, and by now you've crawled out of the steep incline that leads to the lava pit. So you stand before the behemoth Crocell with shaking knees and twitching tails, awaiting its verdict. With the way it licks its lips, you fear it's saved you for last to savor the taste of your flesh as a reward for a job well done. You exchange nervous, darting looks with your two remaining broodmates, and you see your fears reflected in their eyes.

"You three," Crocell says, grinning with its mouth teeth and its eye teeth, "will be the personal servants of the Devil himself."

Crocell escorts you to a yawning stone cavern filled with dizzying sights and sounds. Band players play relentlessly lively tunes, and at the haggard expressions on their faces and their shaking fingers, you rethink your earlier envy. Fire elementals dance and sway, sending slashes of light and shadow whipping across the stone. Though you and your siblings are born to serve the forces of chaos and destruction, even this is a bit much for your newly formed eyes and minds to process.

The three of you traipse behind Crocell, and its form hides the room's farthest occupant until it steps aside suddenly to present you to him.

The Devil reclines in his stone-hewn throne, tapping his foot lazily to the lawless revelry around him. His horns are so long and fine that they nearly reach the ceiling. He is covered from head to toe in thick and tangled fur, just like the three of you, except for his strangely hairless ears. And when he gazes upon you and grins, his teeth are sharp and pointed like yours, too, except they seem like they're too small for his mouth, so there are large gaps of gum between each deadly incisor.

"Fresh meat," Crocell says gruffly, picking viscera from its teeth. The behemoth steps back and over you, then nudges you all forward with the filthy underside of its foot. The blunt tips of your clawed feet click on the stone floor as you stumble forward.

The Devil's gap-toothed grin widens slowly as he looks you and your siblings up and down.

"They'll do."

* * *

You learn that your daily tasks include: lurking around the Devil's throne to make him look larger and more imposing, harassing mortals who seek an audience with him, retrieving anything he might need from his armory or his quarters -- generally, doing everything he says and being at his disposal.

Your accommodations pale in comparison to the luxury of the Devil's, of course, but it's the closest thing to the high life lowly imps like you will ever get: enormous beds with silky sheets, natural lava springs and geysers for bathing -- and other imps must defer to you when they see the golden clasps around your tails.

Crocell says you begin your duties as the Devil's personal attendants tomorrow, and the behemoth leaves you to your shared room.

The three of you stand there in mute shock for a few moments. Considering all you have seen in your short time alive, that you even made it this far without being killed or eaten is an accomplishment worthy of celebration. But to live in just a fraction of the luxury enjoyed by the Devil himself? It's more than any of you would have dared (or even known) to hope for.

One of you moves, and then all of you are racing to the nearest bed to bounce and roll around on its supple surface in delirious, joyous abandon.

You collide with one of your broodmates and collapse onto the bed in a heap, laughing like hyenas. Beneath you, your broodmate breathes heavily and grins, and the adrenaline of exertion and elation courses through you. Running on mostly instinct, you lean down and bite through their fur into their neck, and they hiss with pleasure, seizing your shoulders and digging their claws in. Their tail whips with excitement, thumping on the bed.

You feel a pair of clawed hands seize your hips, and you look back to see your second broodmate grinning slyly and mouthing at the base of your spine where your tail begins. You grin in answer, and they bite down on the skin. Your tail twitches wildly beyond your control, and it slaps them in the face. You snicker as their eye twitches in irritation.

Then their face vanishes, and you need only wonder what they're doing for a moment before it becomes clear: their tongue laps at the soft flesh at the apex of your thighs. The heat of their tongue seeps through the soft, short fur, and when it reaches your skin, it feels sublime. Something inside you opens up, an emptinenss that aches and yearns for fulfillment.

Then the flesh beneath their tongue grows soft, and softer yet until it opens up, and the heat of your broodmate's tongue is suddenly intense enough to make you cry out as it lances straight into your core like a lava geyser.

The broodmate beneath you finds the sounds you're making interesting enough to crawl out from beneath you and see what your other broodmate is up to. The soft, insistent strokes of their tongue on your newly-formed opening makes your knees shake, and when someone nudges your side, your body is so overcome with the sensation that you topple over as easily as a house of cards, falling onto your back.

You watch them with half-lidded eyes as they peer at your new sexual organ with interest. One of them reaches out to touch the quivering softness with a curious claw, and you snarl at the sharpness of the touch. On reflex, your leg kicks out and strikes the offending broodmate in the teeth, and they're launched off the bed. The remaining broodmate takes their place, eager to learn from their predecessor's mistakes.

You growl in warning as your broodmate grabs your thighs and inches closer, and your toes curl in anticipation of kicking another idiot away from your sensitive new parts. But your broodmate purrs and growls softly in what they must think is assurance. They draw their claws down your thighs and approach slowly, and you relax enough to let them put their mouth against your sex.

And your compliance is rewarded when they engulf your opening with their hot, wet mouth. It sends pleasant shivers through you, like the way you imagine it would feel to sink into a pool of warm lava, and you purr with pleasure and arch your back. Their tongue lashes at you and delves inside, searching, and you squirm with delight at the pressure and the pleasure.

It's strange and new, and you knew sin was your purpose, knew carnal pleasure and pain were the locuses of your power at birth. But you hadn't known -- hadn't even lived long enough to consider -- that sins of the flesh could feel quite this good.

Your disgraced broodmate crawls back onto the bed from the floor, and has the gall to nudge at your shoulders. You growl in warning, but the threat loses its edge when you're caught up in the pleasure throes of what your more solicitous broodmate is doing to you. The disgraced one scoops you up under the arms and pulls you into a seated position, and you hiss in displeased unison with the broodmate between your thighs, both of you finding the separation equally objectionable.

But the disgraced broodmate bites and sucks on your neck, rakes their claws down your chest, and you decide that they have learned their lesson so you allow it. Satisfied no one will be dragging you anywhere else any time soon, your other broodmate crawls forward and wraps their arms around your thighs to bury their nose in the saliva-wet whorls of fur above your sex.

The onslaught of attention and sensation overwhelms you: heat courses through your veins and pools in your round little belly, and all you can do is keen at the sensory overload. You writhe in their grasps, but between the two of them, you have neither the opportunity nor the strength to escape from their combined attentions.

Despite your survival instincts telling your mind to flee, your body seems to be of its own mind. Your tail wraps unbidden around the broodmate behind you, and you feel their grip tighten, their claws beginning to draw beads of blood as they growl and grin into your neck.

You lift your legs to kick the broodmate between your legs away, and yet what actually happens is your prehensile feet grab and clench their rear and pull them closer, and they moan into your sex, which sends you into yet another fit of pique as the buzzing in your skin and ears grows stronger.

You swear you feel their tongue grow longer, thicker, pressing into your inner walls and creating sensations so unique and intense that it makes you whimper.

Your disgraced broodmate trails one of its scratching hands down your torso until it rests on your belly, where it presses down gently at first, then harder -- until impossibly, you feel the solicitous tongue of your other broodmate respond and push outward against it (when had it gotten so deep?!), squeezing the guts in between and creating a pressure that makes you want to choke on it.

Razor sharp teeth bite down on your ear, and claws rake down your side, bizarrely ticklish -- and your vision bursts in a hundred brilliant hues of white-hot Hellfire.

* * *

When you come back to your senses, you hear your broodmates rutting and growling against each other, the bed shaking beneath you. Part of you wants to join them, to discover more about the capabilities of your new and unfamiliar bodies in the most depraved and debauched way you can. But a much larger part wants to rest, and in service of obeying that part, you crawl bonelessly from the bed and, for some reason, to the lava pits.

You frown into its bubbling, popping surface. Why had you come here, and not to one of the other beds in the room? Well, you were just born today. Maybe instinctually, you sought the comfort of the lava pool from which you first emerged.

It stings a little when you submerge yourself in it, and your keen nose detects the faint scent of burning fur -- but soon you acclimate and find yourself relaxing, even becoming invigorated by its extraordinary heat.

You doze off in the lava bath to the lewd sounds of your broodmates' coupling.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, thanks for reading! This spiraled out of control after I watched the 1929 Disney animated film _Hell's Bells_ and got to discussing it with my friend Lee, who recommended it to me in the first place for Cuphead-inspiration purposes. And basically the Devil feeds an imp to his three-headed dog and Lee and I were simultaneously like "uh is this vore"
> 
> So now it's vore!
> 
> And if you're hear for Dealt or Working Relationships, don't worry! Those are in the works, too -- and Dealt will have an update sooner rather than later. Just had to get this bug outta my system, hahaha.


End file.
